


slide through it into the light

by alternatedoom



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Father/Son Incest, Kink Meme, M/M, Not Beta Read, Past Rape/Non-con, Warcraft Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternatedoom/pseuds/alternatedoom
Summary: You're sick. What kind of sick man wants his own son?
Relationships: Anduin Wrynn/Varian Wrynn
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	slide through it into the light

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Written anonymously for the beautiful, languishing [Warcraft Kink Meme](https://warcraftkink.livejournal.com/). [Prompt](https://warcraftkink.livejournal.com/588.html?thread=567116#t567116) was: _Varian/Anduin. Can't really ask for it anywhere else, so please, give it to me here. I'd prefer consensual._  
>  2\. I feel a little weird about having written this pairing, which is silly given that I've happily penned contented sibling incest before as well as much less pleasant Logan/Daken as well as much nastier stuff generally. I don't even think of myself as into incest, curiously enough, though I do love power imbalances and secret relationships. But I saw the prompt and was like, I kin do that.  
> 3\. Content warning for mentions of past rape, nothing too graphic but be warned.  
> 4\. Dialogue from 5.1 taken directly from the cut scene.  
> 

As Varian walks the silent nighttime halls of his castle keep, his thoughts go in circles just as they always do. The very walls accuse him.

_You're a monster._

I'm taking care of my son. My son's needs.

_You're isolating him._

I'm keeping him safe.

_You're sick. What kind of sick man wants his own son?_

Just another man, once upon a time. He was an ordinary man, if the mightiest of gladiators and the ruler of a vast kingdom can ever be ordinary. Until suddenly one day the ordinary turned inward, turned into something... darker.

His unseemly lust crept into his awarenss some time after Anduin returned from his expedition to the Exodar with Lord Velen. Anduin left a callow, unhappy boy and returned a distant young man, a sudden and startling transformation into the earliest stages of adulthood.

Varian tentatively gave him plenty of space after his return, letting him leave the keep with only a handful of guards, letting him visit Jaina whenever he wished. Wary at first, Anduin slowly warmed up to him, pleased Varian had cleaned up his life, stopped drinking to excess, gotten his explosive anger under control.

If only Varian could get this sick desires likewise under control.

He'll feel ill with guilt, plagued and haunted by it, nauseated sometimes, wracked with his stark moral failure until he's with Anduin, because his son radiates peace.

When he's aroused and alone, the moral revulsion falls away and he only feels the wanting, the most mysterious transformation he's ever experienced. In private, when he's turned on, the disgust incomprehensibly melts into lust. When he spills his seed over the clean sheets of his bed with Anduin in his mind, almost immediately his liquid, carnal satiation solidifies into shame and guilt, and he loathes himself again.

In his waking hours, he feels only the guilt and shame eating at him. Arousal and the rest of the time, night and day. He's a man divided in a way he wasn't even when he was literally two separate men. He cannot reconcile the all-consuming lust with the utter moral repugnance.

Some time ago (knowing what he was going to do?) he ordered the guardposts moved exterior to the area surrounding the royal bedrooms. He stops before Anduin's chambers. He gathers his courage and his sickness, hating himself, then grasps a bronzed ring and carefully swings open the door.

*

Anduin's goodness shines like a beacon of sunshine, like a ray of prayed-for Light, an invisible halo he wears that becomes him more beautifully than any crown of gold and jewels. Everyone who comes to know him loves him, Varian thinks. He wouldn't be alive but for Anduin's power.

Part of him regrets that Anduin doesn't have any friends his own age, or any close friends at all, but Anduin's solitude keeps the ties that bind strong. He's held off on betrothing Anduin for the same reason. Keeping Anduin safe means keeping him close. Varian doesn't trust anyone with his son. Bolvar, once upon a time. Now, not anyone.

He's seen how his son's eyes follow the young women in the keep, skirting along the curving lines of supple bodies Varian scarcely notices anymore. His son eyes the men, too, he thinks, though he's not certain. Varian doesn't want to encourage that inclination any more than he wants Anduin to knock up some attractive serving girl. Anduin's life doesn't need those sorts of complications.

_And what are you?_

*

Anduin's mattress is too small to comfortably hold both of them, so Varian kneels beside the bed, pushes back the blanket and puts his hand on his son's cock. Anduin no longer wears much in the way of clothes to bed, knowing his father will be visiting him. A nightshirt and loose pants in the winter. Easy to push up, and easy to push down. Lately Anduin even opens them for him, unlacing them all the way to the inseam.

These nights are so many things: apology, sacredness, caretaking, release.

Neither of them ever says anything, not since the first time when Anduin didn't realize, at first, who'd entered his bedchamber. Even then, it was only a single confused, questioning word seeking to confirm his identity. Anduin's never said no. Anduin disobeys him sometimes--too often, actually, out of the otherworldly time and space of their late evenings in the dark. But he's never said no. He's never said 'stop' or 'don't' or 'what are you doing, Father?'

Varian clings to that.

In the dim reddish light from the glowing coals in the brazier, Anduin's cock looks small in his heavy and sword-calloused hand. He's infinitely gentle with the softness of Anduin's foreskin, rubbing it back and forth over the head of his cock. He's learned how Anduin likes to be touched, what makes him arch up into Varian's grip, what makes him moan.

Then again, most things make him moan. Anduin's body teems with lust. He's flush in the rush and heat of adolescence, so no surprise there, and reaching orgasm never takes him long. Varian strokes him and he thrusts up and he soon comes in Varian's hand, panting, his eyes squeezed closed. Varian watches him hungrily.

Varian strokes him a little longer, then cleans Anduin up with his hankerchief, tucking his cock back in his loose pants as he's done so many times before. The way good, decent men tuck their children into bed, he's handling his son's cock. It sickens Varian. The lion on the Wrynn crest on the hankerchief stares out coldly in the darkness before Varian hides it by folding the square of fabric in on itself. He ignores the stern accusation. The image is mostly in his imagination anyway, given the darkness.

He longs to do more, to do the unthinkable. To climb into Anduin's narrow bed, push Anduin's legs wide and force his cock into Anduin's lithe young body, but after he temporarily eases his son's physical needs, he always departs to resolve his own privately. He has fallen low, but not so low as that.

He rises, kisses Anduin's forehead and is turning to leave when Anduin catches him by the wrist.

Anduin hasn't the strength to tug him down, but Anduin pulls himself up from the bed, swinging his legs over the side.

"Father, wait," Anduin says, and he cups his free hand and conjures a four-inch sphere of Light.

As Varian turns, guilt and self-recrimination crash over him like a wall of cresting seawater, and leaving him equally breathless as though he's drowning. The sudden brightness, as though the Cathedral itself has sprung up from the flagstones inside Anduin's bedroom, and the sound of those two words leave him aghast. They don't speak in this darkened, mysterious, silent space. The spell has been broken. Anduin will accuse him now, name him for crossing all the horrible lines he's crossed, breaking all the boundaries he's shattered.

Anduin's face isn't angry, though. His expression is intense, searching.

With a graceful undulation of his hand, Anduin gently rolls the floating ball of Light off his palm, setting it to hover by the bed. Varian wills his legs to move, frozen with dread and shame, but then Anduin's fingers are tugging at the lacings of his pants and slipping in to touch the bare skin beneath.

"No. No, don't," he says before he can stop himself, and he grabs at Anduin's hand.

Anduin pauses. "Why not?"

"This is about you, not me." The words come out with suitable firmness, though his knees feel weak and his tongue feeble.

"This is about us," Anduin insists softly, and pulls his hand out from under Varian's half-limp one, freeing it to pull anew at the drawstrings.

"We shouldn't."

"You want to," Anduin says, and Varian can see in the conjured Light his eyes are wise and sharp and punishing, possessed of the piercing quality they used to get when Anduin was thirteen and reprimanding him for his drinking, sometimes wordlessly, sometimes with a cutting comment. Anduin has changed, but then again he hasn't. Anduin's fingers stir again, disregarding his 'no', and Anduin gets his hand under Varian's pants and wraps a hand solidly around his father's cock, withdrawing it and studying it, then lifting his eyes back to Varian's.

"I know you do," Anduin says, and his eyes fall back to the cock he's unveiled so close to his face.

"Stop," Varian says, not because he wants Anduin to stop, but because his size is far beyond what Anduin can handle and Varian fears to let him try. "Don't."

"Why should I?" Anduin asks, preternaturally calm.

Varian can't hold back a muted sound as Anduin leans forward and hesitantly touches his tongue to the tip of his father's already fully hard cock. Anduin's inexperienced, clearly, and Varian is grateful for that; it means he's succeeded as the father of an only-child prince who lives in unabating danger. Anduin's mouth is wet and heated, innocent and perfect. Varian rests a gentle hand on the side of Anduin's head, caressing the softness of one smooth cheek as his hips rock of their own accord, hating himself all the while.

"You're-- you're not obligated --" he begins, but Anduin tilts back his head and interrupts, ceasing the clumsy, heavenly swirling of lips and tongue.

Anduin's fingers loosen, too. "And you are?"

"I have to--I have to keep you safe," Varian says, earnest in his desperation, willing Anduin to understand. To his shame, his hips automatically flex again, seeking more of the half-withdrawn stimulation, and Anduin's fingers reward his weakness by tightening around his length once more. It's been so long since anyone's touched him so, and it's Anduin, who shines with his heart's goodness, who looks so much like Tiffin it hurts. "I know you're isolated. I only want to make it easier on you." He's rambling, Light help him. "You're my world, Anduin."

Anduin seems to be considering his words carefully. "I love you, too, Father."

"I don't want you to leave again."

"I'm not going anywhere," Anduin says. "I dont want you to leave right now."

Anduin lies back, keeping a hold on Varian's wrist and pulling Varian along. Varian hasn't the heart to fight him or yank back. Varian allows his son to pull him down to the bed, and he sits on the edge of the mattress as Anduin opens his legs willingly, expectantly, almost obediently, and he's breathtakingly gorgeous in the warm circle cast by his Lightsphere. Anyone would be humbled to have such a beautiful young man offering himself up this way, but Varian is far too well endowed to even entertain the thought, however enticing. Varian pulls his wrist away, and placing his hands on the outsides of Anduin's knees, Varian presses his son's legs closed again.

The specter of disappointment crosses Anduin's face.

"I promised I would never hurt you again," Varian says quietly. "I meant it. Not even for a second will I hurt you."

Though he's often disappointed his son in the past, and he's sure he'll earn it again by thwarting him in future, Varian would do anything in the here and now to banish that unhappy expression.

Leaning down, he offers, "We can do this instead."

Rearranging himself and holding his body over his son's carefully, Varian spits in his palm and wets his cock before sliding his length in between the crook of Anduin's legs, beneath the small sack of his balls, made slack and looser by the recent orgasm. Anduin tightens his legs around the cock pressing in between them, and Varian thrusts into the crux of his legs as Anduin crosses them at the knee, as though he's trying to make the tiny triangle of his thighs and pelvis tighter still when it's already plenty snug.

Varian finds he can't hold himself back, and he comes shamefully quickly, spilling between Anduin's legs.

The bed has no space for him to roll off, so Varian sits back on the edge after he finishes. Anduin's face is softly awed.

"We shouldn't do this again," Varian says.

"We should," Anduin contradicts him, and with a single look at his son's face, Varian knows then that they will. Anduin has taken the reins to lead them now, and he will follow.

*

He looks down to where Anduin's feet are nearly grazing the edge of the mattress. "We need to get you a bigger bed."

"I concur," Anduin says pointedly.

Varian flushes to realize what he's said. "Not for--"

"Yes."

He orders Anduin's bed replaced with a larger size right before Anduin disappears onto a ship. After that, for months Varian's nights are a torment.

*

_Anduin visits him in his office later that week, and Varian receives him. Anduin stands in a tense line, his shoulders strung, the way he does when he's either prepared to face stern words or about to deliver them himself, but the way he's biting one side of his lip, worrying at the tender pink flesh there says the former._

_Varian looks at him, already on alert (even as some part of his mind is murmuring to kiss that bitten lip). "What is it?"_

_"Father," Anduin begins. "I don't want to upset you..."_

_Varian carefully keeps his tone modulated. "But?"_

_Anduin shifts his weight from foot to foot but meets Varian's eyes bravely. "But I want to take another trip. To Darnassus."_

_Varian's heart sinks, and he needs a second to gather his voice, which comes out like gravel. "I thought you said you weren't going anywhere."_

_"I was thinking we could go together," Anduin says sincerely, sidling closer, and the tightness in Varian's chest eases a little. "I don't want to be separated from you, and if you come with me then we won't have to be."_

_Varian's tempted by the mental picture even as he knows he can't agree. Anduin leaning over the sturdy wooden railing of a ship's prow, feet planted wide on the wooden deck, looking out to sea as the waves hit hard against the hull. Steadied by Varian's hand on his shoulder, protecting him should Anduin's sense of balance falter. Fishing together in Darnassus, training at arms. Anduin needs more battle practice even if he'll never be a swordsman (and while he's let the topic go for now for the sake of peace between them, Varian is far from convinced Anduin will not grow and bulk up to the musculature sufficient to be a warrior). Anduin naked in his cabin late at night._

_"It'll be an adventure we can take together. We haven't done anything like that in an age."_

_"Anduin, you know I can't."_

_Anduin's face falls, his eyes going downcast for a moment._

_Varian fiddles with the golden compass on his desk, a closed clamshell which contains a painting of Anduin on the inner lid, a picture copied from an official portrait from a few years ago. "During a time of war, a king might be called away from home to defend it, but in the stretches of peace in between, he can't just go off on a whim. The people of Stormwind need me here--need to _see_ me here--knowing I'm in their corner, looking after their interests. And guarding against the next war and at the same time preparing for it."_

_Anduin looks at him crestfallen, and then he lifts his chin. "All right. Then I want to go alone."_

_Varian feels hollow. "Why do you feel so strongly about this? About traveling?"_

_"Because a king shouldn't rule over a people he doesn't know. I need to understand more than Stormwind and our way of life." Anduin tilts his head, speaking earnestly. "I learned so much in Ironforge and at the Exodar, I came to know the draenei as a people, and the dwarves. I want to know the night elves the same way. By immersion."_

_Anduin is uncomfortably wise sometimes, and his intellectual curiosity is all from Tiffin. Varian can hardly argue if wanting to be a better king someday is his son's true reason for wanting to leave._

_"Anduin. Come here."_

_Anduin eagerly approaches his chair, and Varian takes Anduin's soft hand in both of his and lowers his voice, searching for the right phrases for a moment. "Is this because of--"_

_"_ No _," Anduin cuts him off. Anduin rarely interrupts when someone else is talking, and the single forceful word sounds all the more emphatic for its rarity. "No. I hate to be apart, and I hate to leave you," Anduin says more quietly, and his face is open like a book, and sad. "This isn't because of that. This is because... I'm me."_

_Varian heaves a sigh, weighing his options. "If anything, you should take a mage's portal there and back afterwards." Varian's reluctant to let him go, but Anduin is turning out to be a free spirit, and allowing Anduin to go with Varian's blessing and some carefully considered conditions is better than forbidding him and having him run away again. Varian thinks he could not bear another break between them._

_"But I haven't taken a sea journey in so long," Anduin protests. "I was talking to Fargo Flintlocke down at the docks last week, and he says the shipright's newest galleons are seaworthy unlike any the harbor's seen before. We'll take a shaman aboard, to keep the winds blowing and the ocean calm, and--"_

_The truth is painful, but it could be a far more painful one than this, and a certain sting is no less reason to face a hard truth. Maybe if Anduin gets the wanderlust out of his system now he'll be able to happily settle down into Stormwind and responsibility when he's older. Assumbing he survives all his expeditions. Varian will have to see the ship outfitted with his navy's best sailors and his keep's best guards._

_Anduin looks at him pleadingly, and in the end Varian can do nothing but give in. When silently Varian nods once, his son throws himself into Varian's arms._

*

Varian worries when Anduin is away from him, and that's _before_ ship and crew are lost with only the barest clue to their whereabouts. After the broken transmission from Admiral Taylor, Varian descends into one of the darkest periods of his life. He yells at everyone, no matter how soft-spoken or well-intentioned. He considers returning to the bottom of a bottle or two, but in the end holds back because he wants to be sober in the event of fresh news, even though there hasn't been such news and won't be until Varian makes it himself by finding his son. He pulls himself together because that's what Anduin would want him to do, pastes on as neutral and calm a face as he can manage, and copes.

 _The White Pawn is safe_. _Anduin is safe_ becomes Varian's new mantra, and he inwardly repeats the three words to himself again and again when sudden anxiety hits his whole body like a warhammer. He would take a portal if he could and be there instantly even if he had to go alone, unarmed, unarmored and without supplies, but he can't because no one has ever been to this supposed new continent. Varian grinds his teeth, and he musters the full strength of Stormwind's fleet and sails west into an uncertain future.

*

On the rocky beach outside the newly erected fort at Lion's Landing, sufficient words do not exist to describe his relief when he hears the shout of "FATHER!" and turns to see Anduin running to him. At sea, Varian had little to do but worry. Here, the work of clearing a beach and establishing a base have been a welcome distraction simply for the fact they've required all his focus and energy. He isn't thinking of Anduin in the forefront of his mind until that second when he hears his son calling him and everything else in the world tumbles away.

Varian falls to his knees in the sand to embrace Anduin. But only seconds later Anduin takes a step back and immediately begins talking about the land under their feet. It's incredible, it's a treasure, the Horde and Alliance war will ruin it. Varian is so grateful to see his son again, he doesn't even consider contradicting Anduin's strange exclamations, and Varian's so surprised by the force of Anduin's passion he ends up listening carefully. Anduin cares deeply about this place and Varian isn't sure why that is, exactly, but he trusts Anduin. If this place matters to Anduin, there'll be a good reason, and so it matters to Varian too.

"Easy, son," Varian says, and then he's promising to protect this continent with their lives. Varian looks down at Anduin intently, because his son clearly has doubts about Varian's good judgement in the face of Horde aggression. "Son, I need you with me on this. We in this together?"

"Together..." Anduin whispers, and it's all the time they have because Hilda Hornswaggle runs up the beach shouting at the top of her lungs.

Varian has a thousand and one things to discuss with his son--but as usual, problems have cropped up and he has to go deal with them. In this case, he has to talk Tyrande off the metaphorical ledge of a leap into violence on this new land Anduin insists is in such peril. But when Anduin says, "I trust you, father," a tightly furled blossom unfolds in Varian's chest.

*

Varian returns as soon as he's able, only a few days battle and travel time lost, and he and Anduin are reunited once again. That night Varian enters Anduin's chamber and freezes, because Anduin is lying on the double bed with his legs spread wide and some kind of-- a phallus up inside him.

Varian finds the presence of mind to shut the door, straining to see in the dimness of the dying fire. His mouth feels dry. What have the weeks of wandering alone on this lost continent done to his boy? "Where did you get that?"

Varian senses, rather than sees, Anduin's flush, and he feels the heat on his own cheeks. Varian's cock was already hard as he approached his son's door. Now his cock feels so hard it hurts.

"It was a gift."

Varian's lips tighten as his mind flashes through faces, possibilities, contemplating violence. Whoever corrupted his son's innocence, he'll have their head on a plate. "I see."

"From a Pandaren called Madam Goya. She caught me looking at something like it," Anduin says, pulling the fake cock forth from his body and sitting up in bed. Anduin winces faintly as the thing emerges, and no surprise, because the phallus is large, nearly as huge as Varian's own flesh. "I refused and later found it in my pack. There was a note promising complete discretion, and I had no way to find her again to return it," Anduin says hurriedly, assuring him as though he fears Varian will accuse him of recklessness in the face of possible blackmail material. "She didn't know who I was, I mean, unless she put two and two together--"

Varian tunes him out, his eyes fixed between Anduin's legs. His thoughts race. They've never gone so far, what if--

"You won't hurt me," Anduin says, his eyes shining in the near-darkness. "I'm so ready, I--"

"Anduin," he says helplessly.

A tiny glistening puddle has collected, a dark spot on the sheet between Anduin's legs where his cock has been steadily dripping as he's fucked himself. Varian stares transfixed as Anduin pushes his ass down the bed in Varian's direction, restless. Seeking to be penetrated again, to have that emptiness within filled by one he trusts. Varian's heart is beating fast as he considers. Wanting to see Anduin better, see his skin and face and shifting movements, Varian snatches a torch from the wall and thrusts it into the fire, setting it back into the sconce for the additional light, and taking his eyes off Anduin not a second longer than he needs to.

"Please," Anduin begs. "I want you to. I want it to be you," and something breaks inside Varian then, his self-control crushing in on itself like a thin tin cup, his heavily shackled sense of impulse snapping like a dried out twig in a fire. Anduin's time alone on this continent hasn't changed him that much, then. Anduin belongs to him still, and Varian realizes-- he's going to consummate their relationship.

"Please," Anduin repeats until Varian strips off his shirt and staggers to Anduin's side, kicking off his boots and shucking off his leggings without taking his eyes from his son. Heedlessly he throws all his clothing to the flagstones, and when he reaches the bed he lowers himself to the mattress.

Anduin's eyes are wide and eager as Varian looms over him. He angles one of Anduin's legs up, resting an ankle atop shoulder, and pushes at Anduin's well-opened hole. He pauses to look for a second, because he can't believe the sight of Anduin's entrance gaping open, open _for him_. He can't believe Anduin did this to himself. He can't believe he's doing this to Anduin either but his son's body is solid under his, no dream.

"Why did you leave Admiral Taylor and the SI:7?" Varian can't help asking it, needs to know whether it was his damning failure to hold back, his criminal lusts, his unholy weakness. Whether he's not only damned his eternal soul but also driven Anduin away with this spiralling series of dark choices.

Anduin silences him with a shake of his head. "I just wanted to -- be free for a while. But I'm so happy to be back with you."

"I was afraid I lost you," Varian whispers.

"You'll never lose me, father," Anduin says, and though he vows no sworn oaths, his firm words comprise a promise all the same.

Varian slides in, and is carried away. For a fraction of a moment he experiences nothing but the rush of pleasure, of being enclosed hot and slick and tight in the body of the person who matters more to him than anyone.

And then near-instantly he crashes back down to earth because he's broken his promise, he's broken his promise because he swore he would never hurt Anduin again, and Anduin's reaction to Varian entering him is a jerk of pain. Even though the size difference is not so much, Varian's cock has speared Anduin open beyond what the toy could accomplish with its lesser width.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Varian says desperately but he's all the way in, his hips flush with his son's body, and it's too late to be gentle or thoughtful or anything but selfish. His voice shakes. He hasn't cried since Tiffin died in his arms, but he feels close to weeping now because he's hurt Anduin _again_.

"It's all right," Anduin whispers, and his grasp on Varian's arms is strong. Varian would have to wrench away to pull back, to break his son's grip. "I like it. It's right."

"I was so worried," Varian says, keeping his eyes closed until the urge behind his eyes has passed. Varian lacks any other words, and only repeats himself. "I was so worried."

"I know. I'm sorry," Anduin says quietly, and he pulls Varian's face down for a kiss.

Varian leaves his forehead tilted against Anduin's as they fuck.

*

They stay in Lion's Landing for a while. Cloistered in Varian's study one night after dinner they're talking about the recently reported upswing in Old Town's criminal activity when Anduin rises and comes to him. Anduin leans down to him where he sits in his chair, pressing his soft lips to Varian's. He's conscious suddenly of how chapped his own lips are, but Anduin kisses him intently. He's expecting Anduin to slide into his lap as he has on a few prior occasions, but then Anduin takes his hand and tugs.

Varian lets Anduin draw him to his feet, and Anduin holds his father's eyes as he puts a hand on Varian's back, gently pushing him down towards the unused surface of his desk. His son doesn't have the strength to move him, but Varian realizes what he wants and after a second's hesitation, he lowers himself submissively.

He was forced into sex relentlessly when he was kept a gladiatorial prisoner, studded out to female clients and pimped out to male customers alike; anyone with the silver to pay for an hour or a night with him could have him. Occasionally he was willing enough and the activity was not too objectionable, if never exactly consensual, and on the other hand he was raped more times than he can count. Time has softened the harsh edges of his recollections, but he never, ever thought to let another man inside his body again.

He's never told Anduin, because the truth is dark and his son did not need to know. Now Anduin ought to know but Varian cannot admit to him the truth, else his son will refuse to take what he so obviously wants, and might seek this same experience elsewhere with another.

Anything, anything but that.

Varian leans over the desk trying not to shake, shoring his weight up with his palms. He feels himself nodding for the sheer comfort of rocking his head up and down, hoping Anduin takes the motion for enthusiasm or anticipation. For his part, Anduin seems distracted by the task of reaching around Varian's body and untying the drawstrings of Varian's leggings without sight.

Yet Anduin must pick up on some of his internal roil, for after Varian's pants have fallen to the floor and Varian has obediently stepped out of them, Anduin wraps his arms around Varian's abdomen, rests his cheek against Varian's back and checks in. "Are you alright with this, Father?"

"Yes," Varian assures him, still nodding. "Yes. Of course."

"What is this?" Anduin asks, discovering with his the burned inch of Varian's left buttock. Anduin brushes light fingertips over the scar, tentative for a moment.

"It's a brand," Varian says, needlessly because Anduin has already pulled back to look at the mark. Slavery leaves marks both inside and out.

Anduin kisses him there, lips soft and warm against Varian's backside, saying no more.

Anduin's hands on him are gentle, and he's come to Varian's office this evening prepared and with this purpose in mind--Varian hears him unscrew the lid of the jar. Anduin introduces the tip of a single well-slicked finger into Varian's ass so carefully that Varian's left thinking of past experiences. Too much time to think and to remember. Varian wants to skip this part.

"No more preparation," he demands as Anduin sinks his finger ever so slightly deeper. "Take me. Now."

Anduin halts, and Varian realizes belatedly that his tone came out much too imperious, businesslike even; he all but barked the request. "Please. I want you," he says to soften it, but that's not good enough either.

"Father--"

"Give me your cock," Varian urges, because maybe going all out with explicitness will turn Anduin on, make him pass over the awkwardness without comment. "I just want to feel you in me. Please, Anduin. Take me. I want it."

Saying the words makes them true, if they weren't already, and and perhaps Anduin senses this as he resumes, pressing his cock to Varian's body and guiding his slick length to the entrance, lodging the tip then pushing inside without hesitation as he was told.

The penetration is temporarily agonizing, a dizzying pain so excruciating and packed with dread and memory it strips all thought away. Varian rides the horror out, clenching his eyes shut, tightening his jaw and holding quite still, trying to stay loose-limbed and not let his tense body stiffen so much Anduin will notice. Varian holds still, holds to Anduin's name on a murmured repeat in his mind as thought returns, only wanting to let his son claim him and use him. He endures what he asked for, glad to be giving Anduin what he seeks, pain be damned. Anduin undoubtedly suffered far more to take Varian internally.

Anduin reaches around again, this time to stroke at Varian's cock. Anduin's fingers are slippery and skilled in this technique at least, even with the disadvantage of the clumsy new-to-him angle, and as the racking pain fades to a persistent sting Varian starts to enjoy the feeling of Anduin's hips moving so eagerly against his own. Anduin keeps a hand encircled around Varian's cock even if he sometimes forgets to stroke; he's an unselfish partner for someone his age, far more considerate than Varian remembers being when experimenting with Arthas.

The penetration feels physically good, but half Varian's life is over and he always takes longer to come than he used to, and the dark memories don't aid in reaching fulfillment. For his part, Anduin lasts only a short time, unable or unwilling to hold off from orgasm. Varian remembers the dire buildup of pressure from his own youth, the acute desperation to unload that age fades out to a dull, throbbingly uncomfortable ache, and he minds not at all that Anduin makes no effort to last. Anduin lets go of Varian's cock as he starts to lose himself to the need for satisfaction, but Varian cares little about the benign sexual neglect. He can take care of himself afterwards. Even unable to see Anduin's face, Varian knows all Anduin's tells, and he knows when Anduin's about to lose control by the ragged panting behind him, by the way the shifting of Anduin's hips turns erratic and frenzied. The only difference is Anduin thrusting into his body rather than up into his hand. The only difference is Varian can't see his son's beautiful angelic face.

Anduin is shameless with him, as though he sees nothing morally abhorrent about their couplings. By the time Anduin thrusts unevenly into his body, moans and spurts inside him, Varian wants to feel every moment of it all over again, and he hasn't even come, his cock still so hard his groin aches bitterly. The violent stretch of penetration is a still-persistent echo of pain, but he doesn't even care. He craves Anduin like a drug, wants Anduin every which way, again and again.

After Anduin recovers, he pulls Varian up and turns him around by his hips, checking his father's cock as though he's uncertain whether Varian came. As Varian watches, heart pounding and hips twitching with need, his son goes to his knees and starts to stroke and suck Varian off as best an inexperienced young man can when faced with an extraordinarily large cock to service. Anduin uses hands and the slipperiness of his saliva, hands lips mouth and tongue all at once until Varian can barely keep from screaming and his world blacks out, his hands clenched behind his back to stop himself from touching his son and being too rough. When his world narrows, everything he cares about is kneeling upright at his feet.

_Honor, you've lost it. Such hypocrisy._

Anduin pulls Varian down afterwards to sit on the floor against his desk together. Anduin kisses him, climbing into his lap, and _his son's mouth_ tastes of him. The muddled joy Varian feels is at once perverted deviance and delight incarnate.

*

To Varian's sorrow, Anduin refuses to stay on at Lion's Landing. "I'm capable," he insists when Varian protests his leaving. "I'll be fine, and I'll come home soon."

And true to his word, Anduin returns each fortnight or thereabouts, until one month he doesn't. When Anduin returns to Lion's Landing, it's across a Pandaren kite brought by Fennie Hornswaggle, and Anduin's body has been broken.

_You'll never lose me, Father._

*

After the initial hours of prayer and healing are complete, Velen consults with a couple of old pandaren masters Admiral Taylor turned up somewhere. Velen's blessed with healing powers beyond any other being, and Varian's irritated Velen feels the need to bring in others (for healing herbs Velen lacks, as it turns out), but Varian wants to see Anduin well so lets it pass, lets Velen do what he wants. Later, Varian regrets his choice when one of the Pandaren, whose name he's forgotten, approaches him with a single but immensely frustrating instruction.

"He should be taken to the Veiled Stair. There is a place--"

The stress of the day has been too much, and Varian erupts. "Him being away from m-from safety is exactly why he's lying in there with all his bones shattered!"

The pandaren looks at him inscrutably, then continues as though Varian never interrupted via outburst. "There is a place he can stay. The Tavern in the Mists is built on the Stair's natural hot springs, and the water has healing properties. I would encourage sponge baths from the springs until he's well enough to soak in the pools on his own. The inn is a common retreat for those with chronic ailments as well as severe injuries such as his. You could accompany him if you wish."

The pandaren looks evenly at him as though he sees right through Varian, as though he knows everything.

_Don't get paranoid._

"I can't," Varian grinds out. An ugly, frustrating choice between honor and love. The war is ramping up all the time, and Varian can't go traipsing off now... although he's tempted to. Who would blame him for wanting to be with his son, who has so narrowly escaped death? 

But on the heels of that thought, a second-- that Garrosh will never see justice if Varian doesn't personally see to that end. That realization resolves Varian. Others can look after Anduin, can restore and heal him and bring him back to his healthy, stable, shining self. Only Varian can exact vengeance. Or justice. Or vengeance.

"I have already spoken with Tong, the innkeeper," the pandaren continues, voice tranquil. "His inn is a neutral space, and no Horde-Alliance fights have broken out thus far. Your son will be safe under his care, and the restorative waters will speed your son's healing. One of the locals on the Stair, Binan, is an acupressurist famed for her skill, and she will help your son too. There is adequate room for guards as well, if you wish."

Varian is about to object again and fully refuse this outrageous proposition, but the old pandaren looks at him, wise and keen. "Do you prefer to keep him close, or do you want him to someday walk again?"

Varian grinds his teeth and changes the subject. "I want to see him now. Is he awake?"

The pandaren gestures the go-ahead with a paw, and Varian stalks into the makeshift recovery room. Velen requested the thinnest mattress in the keep, something about striking a balance between comfort and firm support. Anduin is laid out on a trundle mattress ony an inch off the floor. He looks pale as death, but less... crunched in on himself. Less dead, more sick and sleeping. Varian will take it.

"Anduin?" he asks tentatively, and Anduin's eyes flutter open at the sound of his voice.

Varian goes to his son's side, crossing his legs in front of him and leaning over Anduin. "Are you in very much pain?"

"They've given me... an elixir," Anduin says, his words dreamy and yet staggering as if speaking takes effort.

Varian carefully and gently touches Anduin's brow, brushing his bangs to one side of his forehead. "They want to take you to a place called the Veiled Stair," Varian tells him, though he suspects Anduin may not even remember this conversation later. "Not far from the Shrine. There are hot springs there with healing waters."

Anduin's chin flexes in a way that might be a nod, and he blinks what might be slow acknowledgement.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"I'll be fine," Anduin says, the words still rolling out quiet and slow, with the unnatural peace of whatever drug the pandaren gave Anduin to keep him from screaming every conscious moment. "Know... you're busy. With the war." Varian's about to tell Anduin damn the war, he's coming with him to the Veiled Stair when his son continues. "Defend... defend Pandaria."

As usual, Anduin thinks of himself last. Varian's eyes well with tears and his vision swims. "What were you thinking?" Varian asks, the question he's been voicing repeatedly, both aloud and silently, since he first saw Anduin lying prone on a mat on the floor, his body all but crushed.

"That I was the only one who could stop Garrosh before it was too late," Anduin murmurs in something between a whisper and a croak, and the hoarseness in his voice says he knows how close he came.

"I love you so much," Varian tells him desperately.

"Father," Anduin whispers, and he seems to be struggling to stay awake, but his eyes close and he becomes unresponsive.

Within the hour Varian's arranged for Anduin to be carried on a litter through a portal to the inn at the Veiled Stair, a host of guards walking in pairs before him like sled dogs pulling their fallen master, or like a funeral march. Anduin is asleep again, but Varian kisses Anduin's forehead goodbye. "Light be with you, Anduin," he whispers, and he doesn't imagine the corners of Anduin's mouth momentarily twitching up, even as a single furrowed line briefly appears on his brow.

*

Varian laments his decision not to accompany Anduin when he finds out from Mathias who else has taken up occupancy in the Tavern in the Mists, and he's even more unhappy when he learns Anduin has formed what sounds like a rather intense friendship with the resident monster. Anduin is far too open, far too trusting. At first he fears for Anduin's safety, but Mathias' agents report the black dragon Wrathion is as openly smitten with Anduin as Anduin is with him.

A month into Anduin's recovery Varian pays his son a visit at the Tavern, and he observes Wrathion from afar, or as afar as the High King of the Alliance can observe anyone. At first, when they're finally alone together, Anduin can't shut up about Wrathion. Varian doesn't care what Wrathion thinks about the changing of Pandaria's seasons or what type of tea leaves Wrathion prefers, but he conceals his roiling jealousy, containing his reactions to no more than a tightened jaw and short responses. Anduin can read him well enough, though, and soon he stops his prattle (Varian immediately feels guilty for even thinking of this word in connection with Anduin, but the dragon hovering at his son's elbow at the time of Varian's arrival makes Varian feel markedly ungenerous).

Though according to Mathias the dragon is a toddler, he chooses to present as Anduin's age. Wrathion has all the idiocy and self-assurance of youth grown up too fast. Anduin possesses such maturity for his age, Varian can't imagine what his son could see in a self-centered power-hungry black dragon whelpling. The whole business is a disaster waiting to happen. Varian can only hope the resulting degree of destruction will metaphorically be more food fight than exploding Defias powderkeg.

And Varian's hit with a cruel stab of regret when he thinks about the fact that this bloody dragon might be the most appropriately aged friend Anduin has ever had. There was a dwarf woman in Ironforge, Varian remembers, perhaps only a decade older, or a little less even. And of course, Varian has no idea what transpired in Anduin's life during his time in the Exodar. Anduin has told him little about the period of their estrangement.

Having Anduin back at his side, safe and sound and recovering is worth suffering through Anduin's excitement about his awful new friend. Anduin is up and about, walking albeit with a cane, even capable of slowly ascending the steps to the overlook the locals call Mason's Folly. Anduin moves like an old man, Varian sees with dismay, but Anduin assures Varian he's improving every day.

Given Anduin's state of recovery, the temptation to command Anduin return with him to Lion's Landing is strong, but Varian reminds himself of his starting point and guiding-light principle when first he reconciled with Anduin: do not drive him away again. If Varian allots him his freedom, he'll return in his own time. In the privacy of Anduin's room in the Tavern, Varian encircles Anduin's throat from the side with a possessive hand, keeping his fingers so loose and gentle it's barely a grip at all. With his thumb he tilts Anduin's face up and tells him: "I don't like your new friend. But I trust you, Anduin."

Anduin stares at him for a few moments, then slowly nods.

Wrathion, for his part, seems to steer clear of Varian, making himself scarce after their discomfiting introductions. Varian wants nothing more than to seize Deathwing's son by the throat tighter than he ever gripped a foe on the battlefield, give him a shake and interrogate him. _What is your interest in my son?_

But he already knows. He's not a fool. Wrathion's already winding himself sinuously around Anduin as Varian takes his leave.

*

The war moves swiftly after that. Varian writes Anduin to join him for the siege of Orgrimmar, because he's thoroughly confident of success against Garrosh, because Anduin is old enough and powerful enough to be a boon to the Alliance force, and because Varian needs to lead by example, to show his son what a king in action looks like. Decisions will need to be made on the fly, as they always do, and they will have ramifications, as they always do, and Anduin must learn how to make those judgement calls as a king, not merely a bystanding moral arbiter.

And of course, Varian feels Anduin is safest when he's closest.

Varian didn't like Anduin journeying to the Timeless Isle in the first place, because if the land mass simply appeared out of the mists one day, there's nothing to say the place couldn't disappear just as abruptly, this time with his son on its soft dunes or lush green grasses. (Anduin has described the isle to his father in his letters so thoroughly Varian feels like given pigments and canvas he could paint the damned landscape, and he is no artist.) Anduin insisted on seeing the place after it appeared out of the mists and so Varian did not gainsay him, but the war is drawing to a conclusion, Varian has Garrosh holed up and so pinned down in the orcish city, and the last thing in the world Varian needs is to have Anduin suddenly lost on a mysterious isle that drifts in and out of the flow of time in unknown algorithms, especially given that last time the miserable place went missing it wasn't seen again for thousands of years.

Not to mention Wrathion is there on the Timeless Isle with Anduin. The knowledge of their continued... association sets Varian's teeth to grinding. Varian doesn't know what precisely their affinity is or how far it's gone, but it's a farce that needs to end.

Once he's made up his mind to call Anduin back to his side, Varian has the missive containing the request for Anduin's return to him hand-delivered by Seamus Goldenkicks. In a demonstration of both wisdom and an appreciation for the newfound freedom to roam Varian has given him during this campaign, Anduin takes the point and promptly answers the summons, packing hurriedly and coming via Seamus' portal to Varian's campsite later that same afternoon.

The war ends with Garrosh in chains rather then dead. Varian can feel Anduin's approval as a radiance on his face, and Jaina makes no secret of her fury and betrayal. Varian sleeps well and soundly, confident he made the correct call.

Varian dares not pay any nightly visits to Anduin during Garrosh's trial. Jaina's encampment on the Isle of Thunder fairly crawls with her Kirin Tor-sworn guards. Varian lies in his surprisingly well-appointed bed and strokes himself thinking of his son, taking a small measure of gratitude in the knowledge that Anduin will not dare a liaison with so many unfamiliar eyes all around them.

At last they return together to Stormwind, to home and comfort and freedom, and for a time they know contentment together.

*

Then the Iron Horde open a terrible gateway into Azeroth, and for the first time, Varian travels to war through alternate timelines and dimensions by the fourth dimension... he still isn't sure. Khadgar details the technical explanation for him once, but Varian can hardly comprehend its intricacies and certainly can't retain what he was told besides the summation of 'alternate universe, in the past.' Varian is a warrior king, and he'll leave the fine points of interdimensional travel to the sorcerers. 

He insists Anduin stay in Stormwind and rule in his stead. Anduin is not happy about this decision, but he answers to the responsibility and reluctantly agrees to the arrangement. Varian is proud of him. 

Unfortunately, that's the last Varian sees of him for over a year and a half of war.

Varian is accustomed to living with regrets--the fate of all humans, not just rulers--but he still keenly feels the sting of knowing a direct line can be drawn between his decision to stop Garrosh's prompt execution at Thrall's hand, and this ensuing war that has claimed thousands more Alliance lives. For sheer consequences, the split-second value judgement to take the moral high ground of putting Garrosh on trial is one of the worst decisions Varian's ever made. If there is any consolation whatsoever to be had, it's that Anduin remains proud of him for what was simply gut instinct, maintaining steadfastly that the results of Garrosh surviving and escaping are not Varian's fault. Varian isn't sure he agrees, but he respects Anduin's philosophy even if it differs from his own. Then too it's a small mercy that the destruction of this war takes place on enemy soil, in another land that matters to Varian far less than his own. And at least the damnable dragon remains out of the picture. Varian will take such tidbits of inner peace as he can get. Varian hopes wherever that sly monster has gone, he never comes back.

When at last Varian makes his way home, Anduin has grown his hair out long, past his shoulders, and Varian marvels at the sight of his beauty. Together again. They spend their days together. Varian nearly flips his lid when Anduin intimates Mathias knows of their relationship.

" _Mathias knows_!?"

"He asked me some leading questions. He wanted to make sure I was okay," Anduin explains with a shrug, as if this development were casual.

Knowing Mathias knows and his loyalty remains unchanged relaxes Varian somewhat.

Then Khadgar flies as a raven into his throne room with news to once again despoil their peaceful life.

Anduin comes to his rooms that night, fully dressed, after Varian has changed from armor to the tunic-and-leggings he wears when he's not being official, but well before the hour Varian normally visits Anduin's bedchamber to lie in the dark together, to kiss and to fuck and to talk quietly afterwards, holding each other.

Anduin's face is stormy. "I don't want to stay again while you go," Anduin says furiously while he paces, as openly agitated as Varian has ever seen him. Varian hates to see him unhappy, let alone angry, but at the same time on some level Varian enjoys it, for he knows he's the only person Anduin's free to be himself around, to let his true feelings on display instead of hiding any trace of them behind the composed demeanor and positive attitude of the Prince Anduin known to the public.

"I know. But you have to," Varian says simply.

"You just got home a few months ago!"

Varian pulls Anduin into his arms and kisses him. "I know," he says softly. "I wish things were different, too."

Anduin kisses him with passion so intense it's strained, as though he can make Varian stay in Stormwind with the sheer force of his lips and tongue. Varian deepens the kiss and Anduin's hands fold into his doublet, winding into the fabric before pulling at his clothes.

*

Varian realizes, before he leaves, that Anduin has become as much a true partner to him as Tiffin was. The moral repugnance has faded out with time and reciprocated love.

Anduin falls asleep in his arms after Varian takes him, and Varian touches Anduin's long hair, stroking its softness as he used to do Tiffin's. After a time Varian reluctantly disentangles himself, and Varian watches his son sleep in the dim light from the low-burning brazier as he packs to depart for the Broken Shore. Varian would like to have an updated portrait of Anduin painted on the inner lid of the compass that will steer the Alliance fleet, the next best thing to having Anduin's image burned into his own inner eyelid, guiding him like the north star guides the navigating lead ship. He wants to see Anduin whenever he shuts his eyes. But there's no time for details or wishes. Varian hates to leave, but he knows he must, if the Legion has returned, if this doom is his to handle. Varian will do whatever he must to make Anduin safe.

He would move heaven and earth for his son.


End file.
